A House Made for Instagram

On Instagram, I have noticed that there are certain photos that seem to garner many "likes".  Rooms with a traditional, European sensibility are popular, as are rooms painted in moody shades of brown, green, or blue.  Photos of blue and white ceramics are always pleasers, especially when the blue and white is grouped en masse.  Detail photos of interesting collections displayed on table tops are sure to get hundreds of likes, as will nighttime photos that capture rooms bathed in pools of warm light.  Of course, these are but a few of the types of photos that keep people coming back to Instagram seeking design inspiration.

As I was perusing a 1981 issue of Architectural Digest, I found an article that featured all of these types of photos.  The article's subject, a renovated 15th-century house located in 's-Hertogenbosch, Holland, belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Clemens van der Ven, both of whom were collectors.  The home was filled with elegant antiques, including blue and white porcelain, centuries-old writing implements, and a Dutch Louis XIV cabinet filled with 17th- and 18th-century silver.  The living room, painted a sophisticated shade of green, boasted a sublime 18th-century chimneypiece, while the dining room had walls covered in tooled and gilded leather panels.  And, as was typical of Architectural Digest at that time, all of the home's rooms, with the exception of the Garden Room, were photographed with table lamps aglow.  (I think that I might be one of the few people who likes interior photos taken with room lights turned on.)

Traditional, elegant homes such as this one are the exception rather than the rule these days.  But thanks to Instagram, I'm finding that rarefied taste in décor not only still exists, it seems to be generating some excitement, too.

The couple's living room, which was brimming with well-chosen antiques.

A Dutch Louis XIV cabinet, which held 17th- and 18th-century silver.

The couple's dining room, with its tooled and gilded leather-paneled walls.

An 18th-century Japanese cabinet with blue and white porcelain.

A collection of antique writing implements and boxes.

Mrs. van der Ven's collection of miniature 19th-century dinnerware, which she began collecting as a child.

The Master Bedroom.

The sunny Garden Room.


All photos from Architectural Digest, April 1981, Kees Hageman photographer.

The Classics: The Telescoping Table

Next month, I will celebrate nine years of blogging, and I can hardly believe it.  Back then, blogging was considered cutting-edge, but today, it's more like the éminence grise of the social media world.  So much has changed since 2006, and yet, in a way, much has stayed the same.  Nine years later and I'm still focusing my attention on those interiors and furnishings that have stood the test of time.

Some of you who have been with me for the long haul might remember "The Classics" series that I wrote a number of years ago.  Each of the series' blog posts featured furnishings that I considered to be classic.  Think Porthault linen, Brunschwig's "Les Touches" fabric, and Billy Baldwin's slipper chair.  (Little did I know back then that I would eventually develop this concept into a book, In with the Old.)  But it dawned on me last week that I had never written about a piece of furniture that is most definitely a classic: the telescoping table.

Look at the homes of Hubert de Givenchy, Howard Slatkin, and Alex Papachristidis, to name but a few, and you'll find at least one telescoping table, which is a small occasional table whose height can be adjusted thanks to a telescoping shaft.  You often see these tables constructed in brass, although they are made in others metals.  And although most owners seem drawn to round telescoping tables, you will find square versions in many a well-appointed home, too.  I have been told that those made by Maison Toulouse in the mid-twentieth-century are highly desirable, but also coveted is Matthews & Parker's nifty new version, which I recently saw in the Atlanta Brunschwig & Fils- Lee Jofa showroom.  Seriously, what's not to love about a table that is handy, adjustable, and, most important, classically chic?  And now, after having written this post, I covet a telescoping table even more than I did last week.  I'm moving this table to the top of my wish list.   

I always identify the brass telescoping table with Givenchy, who has quite a collection of them in his hôtel particulier in Paris.  The table in the top photo also belongs to Givenchy.

Howard Slatkin has a number of these tables in his home, including one that holds a candle and porcelain flowers and another that supports a stack of dinner plates.

Brian McCarthy must be a fan, as he used this round telescoping table in a client's home.

A square brass version in the former home of designer Alex Papachristidis.

And here, in Robert Couturier's living room, a telescoping table holds a cheery bouquet of pink flowers.


Photo #1: The Finest Houses Of Paris; #2: Private Houses of France: Living with History; #3 and #4: Fifth Avenue Style: A Designer's New York Apartment; #5: Luminous Interiors: The Houses of Brian McCarthy; #6: The Age of Elegance: Interiors by Alex Papachristidis; #7: Robert Couturier: Designing Paradises.

A House That is Glowing and Warm

"I wanted the entire house to be glowing and warm, but above all, cozy. Color does this; so do pictures, stacks of books, music, photographs and flowers."  So said Mrs. Anne Peto, an American whose London townhouse, seen here, was photographed for Architectural Digest in 1981.  Indeed, her townhouse was cozy and warm in an English-country-house kind of way, a result of that always-pleasing mix of floral chintzes, dhurrie rugs, lacquered antiques, and painted furniture.  Those saturated hues- red, yellow, and pink- added to the warmth, a colorful antidote to those grey London days.  And those "glowing" walls, their luminosity achieved by glazing, injected notes of cosmopolitan dash, an urbane counterpoint to the surrounding coziness. 

But the photo that really captured my attention is that of Mrs. Peto's fabulous red library, seen below, with its faux tortoise bookshelves, bamboo blinds, layer upon layer of pattern, and black and white dog photographs.  (Note to self: hire a photographer to shoot black and white glamour shots of Alfie.)  Of red rooms, the homeowner said, "Every house should have one!"  I concur, especially if that red room looks like Mrs. Peto's library.

All photos from Architectural Digest, July 1981, Derry Moore photographer

What Do Michael Bloomberg, Victoria Press, and George Eliot Have in Common?

Over the weekend, I read a New York Times article about the Cheyne Walk mansion that former New York mayor Michael Bloomberg recently purchased for £16 million pounds (around $25 million.) Wishing to learn more about the house, I clicked through to view the property's real estate listing. Although the London townhouse is better known as the long-ago home of writer George Eliot, I immediately recognized it as the residence of the late Victoria Press, the home's most recent owner who was profiled in T Magazine this Spring. It was the listing photo of the home's drawing room, with its ornate, Blanc de Chine-adorned overmantel, that clued me in.

I have included some of the Strutt & Parker listing photos here, but for the full range plus specifics on the house, please visit the firm's website.

All photos from the website of Strutt & Parker.

The Art of Gainage

Gainage.  No, it's not what happens to your body after, say, a holiday season spent eating fattening foods.  Rather, it's the term for the French style of upholstery in which fabric is applied to hard surfaces, such as moldings (see above) and furniture.  Although I've known about this type of intricate upholstery for years, I never knew what to call it. But thanks to the July-August issue of Veranda, I can now put a proper name to a technique that must take great skill, not to mention great patience.  According to Veranda, one of the leading firms that specializes in gainage is that of Charles Jouffre, a master upholsterer with workshops in Paris, Lyon, and New York.  One of Jouffre's notable clients is Chilean designer Juan Pablo Molyneux, whose work sometimes features gainage beds.  Can you imagine how luxurious it must be to sleep in a velvet-covered, four-poster bed?

I don't know if the late designer Alberto Pinto was a client of Charles Jouffre, but I do know that his green velvet-drenched dining room is a prime example of gainage.  Look closely at the photos below, and you'll see that his dining room's shell corner niche was completely covered in the same velvet that was applied to the walls.  And gainage beds can be found in a number of country houses in the U.K., including Dumfries House and Houghton Hall.  (I'm not sure if British craftsmen refer to this type of upholstery as gainage.  Perhaps they have an English term for it.)

Of course, not all gainage is as elaborate as fabric-wrapped state beds or corner niches.  Look at those David Hicks wall brackets, below, that were covered in the same claret-colored velvet that graced the room's walls.  Fabric-covered brackets are perhaps a more manageable way to indulge in the art of gainage.  (I know a clever New York designer who executed his own gainage brackets, which are most becoming.)  Or, you could simply hunt for an antique or vintage gainage table or cabinet.  The beauty of an old fabric-wrapped piece is that its fabric, likely velvet or silk, has patina, which only adds to the allure of gainage. 

Two different examples of gainage beds, which were designed by Juan Pablo Molyneux.

Two views of Alberto Pinto's dining room.  This has to be one of design history's most memorable dining rooms.

Both the walls and molding in this Georges Geffroy-decorated room were covered in green velvet.

Dumfries House's famous Chippendale bed, whose canopy cresting is covered entirely in blue damask. 

An early eighteenth-century tester bed in the Wentworth Bedroom of Milton, a country house in Cambridgeshire.  Recently restored, the bed is covered in a silk damask that is based on the bed's original fabric.

This William Kent-designed bed is located in the aptly-named Green Velvet Bedchamber at Houghton Hall.  The double-shell motif is a reference to Venus.

In this David Hicks-designed room, claret-colored velvet brackets match the room's walls.



Images #1 and #2 from Veranda, July-August issue; #7 from Town & Country, Harry Cory Wright photographer; #8 from The English Country House; #9 from English Country House Interiors; #10 from David Hicks Style and Design

Revisiting David Hicks Carpet

Around the time I started blogging, David Hicks's carpet designs were all the rage, just as they had been when first introduced decades ago.  Everywhere I looked, I saw hexagons, octagons, and the rest of Hicks's favored geometric shapes and patterns.  But because Mr. Hicks's designs were all anyone seemed to talk and blog about, I lost interest, choosing instead to focus on other topics that had not yet reached critical mass.

Almost ten years later, though, David Hicks carpet is back on my mind.  I was recently looking at photos of Hicks's later work, and I was reminded of the range of his carpet designs, many of which are no longer in production.  Take, for example, the carpet sample in the photo, seen above.  According to Suzanne Trocme's Influential Interiors, this Brussels weave carpet was produced by Avena carpets.  Like most of Hicks's floor-coverings, this carpet boasts a geometric pattern, but because it is small-scaled, it appears much less bold than some of his more famous designs .  The colorway is quite attractive, too.

Then take a look at the carpet in Hicks's Oxfordshire home, which can be seen in both the second and third photos, below.  This particular Hicks carpet possesses the verve for which the designer was so well-known, but its neutral tones help to tone down the swagger.  In fact, look how well the carpet works with those voluminous- and fetching- curtains. And speaking of fetching, what about that carpet in the blue bathroom, also seen below? Hicks originally created this carpet for the Prince of Wales, which explains the inclusion of the feather-motif within the overall octagonal pattern. If you look at the fifth photo, a scrapbook of David Hicks's carpet designs, you'll see a rendering of this Prince of Wales pattern, minus the feathers.

I've included a few additional photos that show other Hicksonian carpets and rugs, all of which I think are ripe for reissue.  To me, these examples have the flair and pizzazz that people still desire, but they're not quite as brazen as those designs that were all the rage almost a decade ago.